Someone So Fragile
by Leia 96
Summary: How had he allowed himself to be so stupid as to care so much for someone so fragile? A quick glimpse into Bran's head during the infamous Porsche incident. Oneshot.


"Where's my car?" Bran asked, staring at the empty space in the garage. The Porsche was missing when it should not have been. There was no one around, and yet he said it again, slower. "Where. is. my. car?"

People simply did not take things from the Marrok. Not even his sons, not without asking. He paused, thoughtful for a moment. No, not his sons... but there was one person he could imagine taking the car.

He heard the phone ringing from the kitchen and listened as Leah answered, but was too far to hear what was said on the other side. It was short and to the point, whatever was said. Leah hung up without saying a word, then came into the garage.

"That was Charles," she smirked. "You'll never guess who he just saw taking your Porsche for a little joyride."

That smirk was the key; he knew _exactly_ who'd taken the car.

Of course, he contemplated as he ran, she was only fourteen, and to his knowledge, didn't even know _how_ to drive. Clearly, though, someone had taught her, or else she'd figured out at least the basics all on her own; after all, troublesome she may be, but it couldn't be denied that she was a clever child.

As for what she wanted the car for, who could know? It was possible she'd taken it just to annoy him; it was a stupid and childish thing to do, regardless, but he knew he would forgive her—with minimal consequence, even. After all, she had just lost her foster mother and foster father in rapid succession, so she could be allowed a certain amount of leeway.

There had been those in the pack who hadn't wanted to tell her the true nature of Brian's death, that he had killed himself. She was too young, they said, too innocent. She would blame herself. But Bran generally preferred the truth over lies, and after all, fourteen was only a few short years from adulthood. He had wondered often though, in recent months, whether he had made the right decision.

He heard familiar footsteps behind him, and turned to see Samuel catching up to him, out of breath.

"Da," he panted. "Mercy—"

"I know, Charles called."

They could hear the Porsche up ahead, were getting closer. Bran was sure that, whatever her goal was, she would stop once she saw that she'd been caught; all they needed was for her to see them. Bran sped up, Samuel following his lead. They turned a corner, and the little car was immediately in view, Mercy's head not even visible over the back of the seat. Bran could tell the exact moment she saw them, because the car immediately started to pull over.

Except he was right, he thought, that she didn't really know how to drive very well, because she lost control and the Porsche plunged off the side of the road—and head on into a tree.

Bran heard himself shout with fury, for surely she'd killed herself. She was so young and innocent and _fragile_—a human in practically every way that mattered. Never before had he cared so much for someone so fragile.

He could feel his wolf trying to fight its way to the surface, but he shoved it down. He was sprinting, faster even than Samuel, to see her, get her medical help if she needed it. He stuck his face in the driver side window to look at her. She seemed to be fine; she blinked at him, a little dazed and a little sheepish-looking, a cut on her forehead, but otherwise fine. Conscious, at least. Samuel would have to take a better look at her before he could rest.

He started to sigh, relieved, before, suddenly, he found himself desperately having to shove his wolf back down.

Because even if she was fine today, she wouldn't always be. _A human in practically every way that mattered_—it made no difference that she had superior senses, or a resistance to magic, or even that she could turn into a coyote at will, not when she could be killed so easily.

He ripped the door open, almost entirely detaching it from the car. He needed to calm down.

A car crash, a bullet, an illness, a wild animal. A human could kill her with his bare hands if he wanted to.

"Get out." She didn't move. "Can you walk?" She nodded hurriedly and scrambled out of the car. Thank God. It wasn't today, it wasn't _this_ car crash.

Samuel rushed to her and was asking her what hurt, and Bran tried to calm himself down, but how could he? It wasn't today, it wasn't this car crash, but someday his Mercy's fragility would catch up to her, and she would die. Maybe she would be fifteen, maybe she would be ninety, but either way, it would be too soon.

Bran had heard it said that parents were not meant to outlive their children, but it had never been something he'd had to worry about. Now, though, it was guaranteed. In the fourteen years he'd cared for her as if she were his own daughter, it had never occurred to him that he would someday bury her.

"Da," he heard Samuel say, as if from a distance. "Aside from the cut, she's fine." Bran turned around, trying to calm his wolf. He wasn't sure what was on his face, but whatever his son saw, he practically threw himself on the ground, pulling Mercy down with him. Yes, Bran definitely needed to calm down.

He took a step toward Mercy, where she dutifully stared at the ground. He needed to lock her away in a tower where nothing and no one could get to her, but that wasn't exactly an option, so he did the next best thing.

"You go home and pack a bag and stay in my guest bedroom for a week. You do not put one toe outside, you do not even stick your head out the bathroom window. Do you understand me?" She nodded, looking annoyed as she kept her eyes locked on the grass. Bran took a deep breath and tried, yet again, to shove his wolf down, which apparently was enough to allow Samuel to stand again. Mercy followed his lead.

"Go. Samuel, follow her and try, if you can, to keep her from totaling some other poor soul's car." The two ran off in the direction of Brian and Evelyn's old house, where Mercy still lived by herself. He watched them go, his eyes locked on Mercy, holding Samuel's hand, dark hair flying behind her, looking every bit the innocent child she was.

Bran sighed. How had he allowed himself to be so stupid as to care so much for someone so fragile?


End file.
